Room 314
by storybycorey
Summary: She's has thought about it.  Bloody hell, of course she's thought about it.  She'd like to challenge anyone to spend more than five minutes time in the presence of Stella Gibson and not think about it. WLW romance: Reed Smith and Stella Gibson


She's thought about it. Bloody hell, of course she's thought about it. She'd like to challenge anyone to spend more than five minutes time in the presence of Stella Gibson and _not_ think about it, even if only in an abstract sense. The woman exudes sexuality the way a rose exudes perfume, whether she intends it or not.

She reminds Reed Smith of an emerald-cut diamond, each tilt of her head and twitch of her hips casting glittered reflections across a new and unsuspecting victim. Perhaps _victim_ is too strong a word. Although Reed wonders if it's not entirely inaccurate.

There's a power to her sexuality which cannot be denied, one she's seen Stella hoard quietly over sniveling men, those she has no intention of satisfying. She's tough as nails and sometimes Reed expects her fine silk blouses to snag upon her angles as she moves. Although that's not fair. Stella may be tough, but she's not sharp, she's not cutting. There's a softness to her strength, one Reed admires from the moment of their first encounter.

But there's an element of protection there, too, hidden within the impossible curve of her waist, tucked between her ample breasts. She wields her sexuality like a shield at times. Reed knows all too well that it's sometimes easier to be in control of the face you present to the outside world, rather than allowing the world to decide for itself what to see.

She'd like to think she's seen a side to Stella's sexuality that falls beyond those parameters though. A gentler one. Gentler, yet direct. Intimate, she'd dare say. A side that could possibly get Reed into a lot of trouble.

But maybe that's the point.

So yes, she's thought about it. Despite a failed marriage and children and conservative upbringing, she's most definitely thought about it.

….

She senses something there the first time they meet, Stella's iced blue eyes above her paper white mask, peering across a dead woman's body at her. Reed's cheeks warm beneath her intense gaze, even if only fleetingly, but the smell of death and evil in the air room leave little room for anything beyond that. It's unnerving though, feeling naked despite a layer of Tyvek.

She thinks about it again the next day, while Stella lies across the very same bed, this time with no dead woman as company. For just a moment and only that. But enough that when Stella suggests stopping for a 'proper drink' later, she phones the sitter and asks her to stay a bit late. It feels rebellious and defiant, and she likes that.

Stella is soft and unguarded as they perch at the bar, and more than once her heeled toe brushes the denim of Reed's trousers, accidentally perhaps, but noticeably. Reed finds herself snagged by the delicate arch of an eyebrow, lost in the curve of pink lips (Stella's smiles are rare, she's already learned this), even amidst talk of body parts packed into suitcases. She somehow senses this is a luxury afforded to not just anyone, this glimpse behind Stella's velvet curtain into the wings.

….

They speak of doubling one day, of parceling out pieces of themselves to fulfill different roles. Reed often wonders, more frequently lately, who she really is, which of her own personas is true. Mother, doctor, lover. She's unsure. It's been a long time since she's felt truly herself.

She has the sense Stella knows exactly who she is. But perhaps that's just what Stella wants her to think.

They make a habit of it, as much of a habit as one can make in the matter of a few days, of checking in over stale cups of break-room coffee. Stella never flinches, not from the overheated coffee, nor from the stories she spills about monsters far worse than the one they're searching out now. It's nice to feel trusted, to feel chosen as a confidante and friend.

She wonders if that's all it is though. Because sometimes Stella looks at her in a way that makes her blush, trails her eyes over Reed's skin and makes her think things she's never thought before. Things she probably shouldn't be thinking. At least not in the presence of others.

She thinks those things alone at night though, and when she reads of James Olson in the papers, she thinks them again. Thinks about fingernails scratching across skin, thinks about pain and pleasure and all that falls between. But then she becomes angry for thinking them. She's been foolish, imagining a connection there, allowing herself to be lured by Stella's husked voice and pale eggshell skin, just one in probably a long list of poor slobs here in Belfast, caught up in her spidery black widow's web. Reed wonders how many besides Olson have had the privilege of seeing the red hourglass most surely tattooed across her belly.

Stella's hand is warm, warmer than Reed expects when she runs her fingers across its shortened nails. She doesn't know why she expects otherwise, but when Stella looks her in the eye and says, "It didn't mean anything," a warmth travels through her body like a flame across dry grass. Does _anyone_ mean anything to Stella Gibson? Is she ridiculous to hope the answer is yes?

The next time they share coffee, Stella sits close enough their thighs touch. She's wearing a leather skirt, and her fingers brush Reed's as she hands her the cardboard cup. Reed can see nude-colored lace through the gap in Stella's blouse each time she glances her way. She tries not to notice. She doesn't try very hard.

….

Stella asks her to drinks. It's been a long day, and guilt over Rose Staggs' disappearance drips from both their shoulders. "Meet me in an hour? We could both use a decent bit of scotch." It doesn't feel like a question, and Reed doesn't take it as one.

She stops home to change. Doesn't ask herself why she chooses the black top that always earns her compliments, doesn't think when she slithers into her tightest leather pants, doesn't question why she changes at all—the clothing that hangs in her locker is perfectly acceptable. But when Stella spots her across the bar, she's grateful, for her eyes make it quite obvious she's appreciative of the gesture. It doesn't escape Reed's notice either that Stella has changed as well.

It's strange really, having drinks alongside a beautiful woman. It's been ages since she's felt watched, seen, anything other than merely _functional_. But tucked in beside Stella, _functionality_ is the last thing on her mind _._ There've been men, a few along the way, but none have affected her the way Stella has. With Stella, she's not just a mother, a doctor, a lover; she's a woman. Somehow she'd forgotten the power in that .

There are eyes on the both of them as they sip their drinks, as they shoulder the burden of another missing woman. It's difficult to enjoy herself with that hanging over her head, but Reed makes do, Stella's knee brushing softly against hers beneath the table. It makes it a bit easier, knowing they share the blame, knowing they're co-conspirators in this dismal game of life-and-death.

Reed's eyes follow as Stella disappears to take a call. She's never seen a woman make a pair of loose-fitting trousers look like expensive lingerie. It makes Reed wonder what she'd make expensive lingerie look like. She's never paid much attention to other women at all, certainly not to this extent.

She somehow thinks Stella has a habit of doing just that, of making people pay attention to things they never have before. Is it intentional, Reed wonders, or something that comes naturally? It's hard to imagine having such an effect on people without even trying.

When Michael Day (of Beegan & Day Solicitors, naturally) interrupts her thoughts, she can't hide her annoyance. There was a time she'd have been flattered by the attentions of a man. Tom Staggs had managed to flatter her. And others. But that time isn't now, not when Rose is missing and she's partially at fault and the spot where Stella just was holds the heady scent of pomegranate and musk.

She's just about to slice through his bullshit when Stella reappears, with her lingerie trousers and her jewel-like reflections, and a soft pink mouth she presses against Reed's lips before Reed even has time to blink.

It startles her. Stella's so suddenly there and her lips so warm, and then it's over before it's barely begun. For a moment, Reed mourns the loss of something she's not even sure she wanted, but then Stella's back, and this time she makes sure to pay attention. Soft, slow, the bar sounds and Michael Day dissolving into some blurred, far-from-here background as Stella's legs overlap her own, as Stella's lips possessively stake their claim.

It's nice, it's more than nice, it's what she's spent the whole previous week trying not to think about, but it ends too soon. Damn Michael Day and his irritating persistence. She marvels as Stella casts him off like a too-small fish from the dock.

Alone again, Stella makes no move to pull away, instead meeting Reed's eye and shifting her leg seductively against the leather of her pants. It's intense, experiencing her from such close proximity—the promise of something more so thick in the air, she can't help but breathe it in. She takes her lip between her teeth as Stella's eyes offer a silent invitation and her hand finds a place on Reed's upper thigh.

They don't speak as they rise from the table, and she worries for a moment that she's on her way to becoming just another Olson, scratch marks her only souvenir come morning. But when Stella's hand slips silently into her own and offers a reassuring squeeze, she realizes scratches to her body are the least of her worries. Skin heals easily; hearts and reputations take a bit more effort.

She silently panics. She's never fallen for a woman, hasn't even considered it. Never touched one, never kissed one, never tasted one. Not until Stella Gibson breezed into town.

She's considering it now though, good lord. And not just any woman, a very particular one, one who dresses in silk and smells like a pomegranate and is currently toying with her fingers as they wait for a lift. There are tingles traveling the entire length of her body with how much she's considering it.

But she can't. She can't do it, as tempting as it is (and it's so bloody tempting). She has a family and a past and though she's thought about it, done little but think about it since they've met in fact, she hasn't really _thought_ about it, hasn't taken it apart and sewn it back together, hasn't autopsied the idea to death yet. Reed Smith doesn't step into situations lightly, even those as tantalizing as this. Perhaps that makes her a coward. She hopes not.

She makes her excuses and feels the heat of Stella's lingering gaze upon her back long after she's turned the corner. She wonders whether she'll feel it there later tonight, as she slips into bed alone. She wonders whether she'll feel it tomorrow, as she makes a Y incision into another woman's chest. She wonders whether she'll feel it in a year, when she accepts a date with a man simply to ease the loneliness.

She's never thought herself a coward, has always been proud to stand up for her beliefs, has even reveled in it at times. She's tried to teach her girls the same. Yet right now, her lips still tingling and her panties undeniably damp, she wonders how she'll explain this to her daughters one day. That fear sometimes outweighs one's heart, one's desires. That being a coward is acceptable as long as rumors don't fly the following day.

She sleeps that night to the ground-dropping-from-beneath-you sensation of a lift and to the rasped voice of Stella Gibson asking "What's that supposed to mean?"

She wakes flushed with perspiration and regret.

….

A body's found the next morning. Her heart drops. Would the words have sounded different if she'd heard them from Stella's bed instead of from her own? Softer, less ominous? Would Stella have kept her from feeling as though she can't fucking breathe? She readies her girls for school and tries not to ponder the many 'what ifs' of the situation. She made her bed when she walked away last night; now it's time to lie in it.

She makes her way to the crime scene with her stomach in her throat.

It's not Rose. Thank God.

When they're sure, the look of relief that passes between the two of them is palpable. She'd worried things would be awkward. But Stella Gibson doesn't do _awkward_. Stella Gibson does _cool as a cucumber_ , last night's smudged lipstick and wandering hands put aside for the sake of the work. Reed's grateful.

She's had trysts with male co-workers in the past, and none were cool as a cucumber. None were even cool. It makes her wonder whether women simply handle things differently. She suspects not though. She suspects Stella is simply one of a kind.

Later, Stella falls asleep in Reed's office. Her breaths are soft and even, and Reed steals glances across the room to watch her. She's such a presence while awake. Even in sleep though, she exudes confidence, control. She's a majestic creature, Stella Gibson, a lioness. Despite everything they've been through these last few days, Reed's heart speeds up at the thought of playing her prey.

….

When she opens her locker to change, she's confronted with a collage of pasted-up photos. Her daughters—they look up to her in everything, how to be good, how to be admirable, how to be a woman. Smiling, laughing, twittering little birds without a care in the world. They don't know fear yet, they don't know cowardice. Not really.

Rose's little girl is without a mum tonight.

She finds Stella standing over a dead body that isn't Rose's. Did this other woman die with a heart full of regret? Did she feel like a coward as she took her last breath?

"What on earth are you doing?" she asks.

"Wondering where Rose is…," Stella responds. Her voice is weary. This case has taken a toll on the both of them, and Stella's usually stalwart façade is wavering.

Stella steps back as Reed closes the drawer. Though she does this every day, multiple times in fact, somehow this time feels significant. There are lots of things she'd like to close away in drawers tonight.

She turns and is faced with Stella's soft blue gaze. They're both hurting tonight, both feeling defeated. She makes a decision. "I don't want to go home just yet," she says, "I can't look at my girls while Rose's daughter is…" She trails off, glancing down, suddenly nervous in the cold, sterile room.

Stella's silent for a pause, then with a tilt of her head and a lift of her chin, she offers, "Shall we get a drink then?" Reed lets out a breath. Stella has a way of saying things so even the simplest words are dripping with sensuality. It's wonderful. She nods, smiling self-consciously, and they make their way to the car.

Stella's hotel is just minutes away. They don't speak, the lights of the city smearing across the windshield. Reed catches the slight remnants of pomegranate in the air, and her stomach flutters. Though technically they're only on their way for a drink, Reed hopes she's made it clear she's not really thirsty. At least not for alcohol.

It's a heady feeling, finally giving in, and she feels the gentle weight of Stella's eyes at her cheek as they stop. It's silent in the carpark once the engine cuts out. They sit for a moment, Reed's breath quickening and her eyes falling to her lap.

The air is thick. Reed feels it as it fills her mouth, as it slides down her throat. Stella reaches across and sweeps a hair from her cheek. "Or we could forego the drink…," she murmurs.

Reed turns, and the arch of Stella's eyebrow beckons her like a finely-crooked finger. Her lids are lowered half-mast, and her fingers graze the skin of Reed's neck like a feather.

"Alright," Reed whispers.

….

It's deja-vu, standing before the lift, and Reed feels the same sense of panic creeping up her throat. No. She's allowing this to happen, she's inviting it. When she's lying cold and lifeless in a drawer, she wants no regrets hovering in the air above her.

"I hear Croydon's nice this time of year," Stella posits, the numbers above the black metal door blinking 4, then 3, then 2, then….

"It's not," Reed shakes her head, "It's really not."

The bell dings, the door creaks open, and in a voice leaving open no room for interpretation, Stella responds with a very definitive, "Good."

The ride up is silent, save for the whirring of machinery and their own soft breaths. Reed's eyes drift about the narrow space, landing on the floor, the ceiling, the walls, everywhere but on the woman standing beside her. Stella, on the other hand, watches her with quiet scrutiny. Reed can feel it. As the lift comes to a halt, fingertips alight at her hip and a low, flinty voice murmurs in her ear, "Room 314."

Reed's breath hitches, and she allows Stella to lead her down the hall, the sway of feminine hips mesmerizing before her. Standing beneath the doorframe of room 314, they pause. Reed is taken aback by the look in Stella's eyes—alluring, inviting, but tender. "Are you positively sure?" Stella asks.

"Positively," Reed answers, then licks her lips at the slow blink and seductive smile that cross Stella's face.

"After you then," Stella's voice is rich as dark chocolate while she holds out the door with her arm.

Reed stands in the center of the room, fidgety, unsure where to look, what to do. She feels somewhat like a pawn left unprotected on a chess board, Stella waiting patiently in the wings to make her move. It's not as if she hasn't done this before, hasn't had midnight encounters in unfamiliar hotel rooms, hasn't left her reservations behind. This feels so very different though.

Stella hangs her coat, then makes her way slowly across the room, sharp heels clicking against the black square of the chess board, the white one, black, white, black, white, until she finally stands directly before her. Reed holds her breath. "Don't be nervous," Stella murmurs, which only serves to do the opposite, as she slides her fingers across Reed's abdomen and continues walking round to her back.

"I'm not, I'm just…," Reed fumbles, not sure what she's _just_ —scared? excited? so aroused she can't see straight?

She jumps at the feel of Stella's fingertips on her neck, at the slow, slithering slide of her blouse being eased down her arms and onto the floor. Next her hair is slipped gently from its band and draped to the front of her chest. She's wearing a camisole, yet feels almost naked. Stella seems to have a way of doing that to her, of stripping her down with a single word, a single touch.

She senses Stella's lips before she feels them, the moist heat of breath on the sphere of her shoulder, then a mouth, soft and wet, slowly painting a trail from one side across to the next. Reed closes her eyes and shudders as the cool air hits her dampened skin.

"Oh," she gasps.

"Tell me to stop," Stella presses into the skin covering her vertebra, hands slipping around to lightly caress her ribs.

"God no," Reed sighs, leaning back, placing her hands atop Stella's and drawing them up to rest between her breasts.

Reed's back arches as Stella presses against her, lips to her jaw and breasts against her back. She hadn't thought of that, the soft pillow of a woman's breasts fitting beneath her shoulder blades. Or the gentle angles of hipbones against her rear instead of a cock. It's exhilarating pondering the things she's been trying for days not to ponder.

Stella's hand slips out to rest beneath Reed's breast. She strokes the curve there lightly, two fingers tracing a smile before softly sliding up to brush against the fullness. Reed's breath hitches when a thumb passes over her nipple, but then the hand is gone, smoothing back down to tease at her belly.

Though her hand is busy, Stella's lips never cease their travels, wandering across Reed's caramel-colored skin, drifting up her neck then falling back down to her clavicle. Her slow, light touch is maddening. Reed turns her head to finally feel that mouth upon her own.

Stella's perfected the art of _maddening_ though, never allowing Reed more than just a taste. She plays a game of cat and mouse with her pale pink lips, brushing and teasing against Reed's mouth, her jaw, her chin, silently encouraging Reed to take chase.

"God, Stella," Reed finally whispers, turning her whole body and threading her fingers through Stella's hair in order to keep her in place. More elements she's never considered, a woman's hair cascading across her wrist, a woman's soft, soft lips and slow, wet tongue. _Soft_. She can't get the word out of her head. Everything about Stella is decadently soft.

"Eager," Stella murmurs with a grin while she nips at Reed's lip, "I like it." Her fingers tickle Reed's ribs, slide around to trace her scapulae, then down to cup her rear.

"I've thought about this…," Reed says, tilting her hips forward and sighing when they meet the same, "…since that night at the bar..." She slinks a hand beneath Stella's cashmere sweater to meet the slippery silk of her camisole. It's not enough.

" _I've_ thought about this…," Stella breathes, "…since the moment we met," and her hand is back at Reed's breast, not just brushing anymore, but caressing, kneading. It's divine, and Reed arches her neck back in pleasure. Stella's mouth follows, her teeth scraping deliciously down the smooth column of skin.

A blaze has been ignited, a fire she's dampened for far too long, and Reed works frantically at Stella's sweater, suddenly desperately impatient to see what's hidden beneath. She thinks about that nude lace from a few days ago, how she imagined slipping her hand inside to cup the flesh, how she touched her own breast that night and imagined it was Stella's.

Stella raises her arms and chuckles, the cashmere sliding silently up and off. But more, more, Reed wants skin. She struggles with the camisole, her usually deft fingers fumbling in the straps, her desperation getting the best of her, until Stella places a gentle hand to her shoulder. "Easy," she murmurs in that _cool as a cucumber_ voice.

"I'm sorry…sorry…" Reed steps back in embarrassment, but Stella shushes her immediately.

"Nothing to be sorry about," she says, sliding a finger down the length of Reed's arm. "No need to hurry though…" And with that, she slithers the camisole off herself, shaking her hair out behind her.

Black. Not nude. Black and lacy and so goddamn expensive-looking. Stella's torso and breasts are beautiful on their own, but adorned with a brassiere like that, they're breathtaking. "Better?" Stella purrs, and Reed sucks in a breath before responding.

"So much," she manages to whisper.

Stella pulls her close, tugs at her lips while simultaneously slipping delicate fingers beneath her camisole, sliding it up until it's gone as well. And then… and then they're belly to belly, breast to breast, lip to lip. It's an overwhelming sensation, Stella's breasts against her own—lace and soft, soft flesh colliding while their lips do the same above. Her nipples harden from the friction, then harden even further as Stella's mouth begins working its way down, her hands working up, until they meet perfectly somewhere in the middle.

Stella's tongue is measured and precise, skimming the edge of Reed's bra, her fingers gentle as they knead and lift her flesh. Reed's hands flutter in the air for a moment before giving in, before cupping the back of Stella's head and guiding her towards a nipple.

"Hmmmm," Stella hums, sucking the lace-covered tip inside.

"Holy Christ," Reed gasps.

"I agree," Stella's voice mumbles around lace and satin and over-sensitized skin. "Let's make this a bit easier though, shall we?" Reed's bra tumbles to the floor in an instant, and then there's just Stella's hot, wet mouth, drawing her in, and Stella's strong, sure hands pressed to the curve of her back. Reed stumbles, her knees close to giving out.

Stella knows how to do this, knows how to work her tongue and her lips and her teeth, knows how to run her fingers over a woman's body until she's gasping and pleading for more. Reed does her best to participate, wringing her fingers through Stella's hair, searching out a lace-encased breast when she can and squeezing. But it's not enough.

"The bed," she begs, pulling Stella up from where she's begun working on Reed's trousers.

"Mmmm," Stella agrees with a raised eyebrow and a smile, sucking Reed's lip between her teeth. They stumble their way to the bed, all wandering hands and probing tongues. When Reed reaches the expensive linens first, she falls back, taking Stella with her then sliding up the bed.

It's exquisite, Stella's weight atop her, so diametrically opposed to that of a man's. Not by stones or pounds, but by balance. Fluidity. A man's weight is the trunk of a tree—solid and dense. Stella is a bundle of soft leaves and twigs—malleable and alive. Delicate.

"Hi," she whispers to Stella's suddenly close and hovering face. She's larger than life like this, pale freckled cheeks and sleek lioness hair. It tickles where it falls on Reed's skin.

"Hi yourself," Stella husks. She rubs her lace-covered breasts enticingly against Reed's nipples.

"Tease," Reed hisses. She meanders up Stella's spine with curious fingers, up each small stepping stone of her vertebra until she meets slick black satin. There's a whisper of a _snick_ as a clasp releases.

Eyebrow raised, Stella murmurs, "Are you quite sure you're from Croydon?"

"I'm just very good with my hands," Reed parries back, and to prove her point, slides one down to squeeze the linen-draped cheek of Stella's ass. Mmmm, Stella has a very nice ass.

"We'll complement each other nicely then…," Stella responds. She grinds her hips, nice and slow, sparks igniting from the friction.

"Why's that?" Reed sighs.

"Because I'm very good with my _mouth_ …," Stella says, then slides herself down Reed's body, lips leaving a sharp, wet trail behind, bra a spidery splotch of ink discarded across Reed's chest. Stella's quick about this and slow about everything else, Reed's trousers already halfway down her thighs before she catches a breath.

Trousers abandoned, Stella eases the pace again, sucking a spot on Reed's lower belly until she's arching against her mouth. "My God," Reed whispers, wet from Stella's proximity but also from the brush of Stella's full breasts against her thighs. Before the night is over, she hopes to feel their gentle weight against each and every part of her body.

Stella moves lower, melts herself into the space Reed has left for her between her legs, noses a line along the edge of Reed's panties. "Will you let me show you?" she breathes against the satin, peering up Reed's body and finding her eyes. Reed's flutter shut.

"Please," Reed whispers, and Stella's already easing off the satin, smoothing her hands down the slopes of Reed's inner thighs and spreading them gently apart. She's there, in the spot no other woman has been, poised and ready to pounce. Reed's breath quickens, her fingers gripping the sheets in anticipation. Stella's so very competent at everything else; Reed has no reason to believe tonight will be an exception.

She anticipates Stella's tongue, her lips, something soft and wet, but Stella surprises her, instead spreading her cool fingers across Reed's upper thighs. She strokes the skin lightly.

Soon she's not just stroking though, she's caressing, massaging. Her thumbs rub small ovals into Reed's flesh, each one drifting slightly lower than the last. And lower. Until finally they're just inches from where Reed most wants them to be.

"I'm going to make you feel so fucking good," Stella whispers, and before Reed can respond, she slides one of those thumbs directly up the center of Reed's cunt, landing on her clit and making it obvious she plans to stay there awhile.

Reed cries out in surprise, lifting her hips to increase the pressure, but Stella presses her gently back down. It's quite clear who's in charge here tonight. Stella hums as her thumb circles, as the rest of her fingers step in to explore. Reed's breathless watching, and when Stella dips two fingers in, then draws them out to taste, she's completely surprised by the sharp, guttural moan that escapes her throat. Everything Stella does seems to affect her this way, seems to strip her down until she's nothing but _need_ , nothing but _want_.

And then they're back, those saliva-slickened fingers, shaping themselves into a perfect 'C' to slip back inside. Reed can't keep from whimpering. It should come as no surprise that Stella knows how to please a woman, that she knows pressure and placement and pitch with a precision that would astound a mathematician.

She works her fingers inside Reed as though it were her own body, each bit of flesh already so familiar, she need not even think, thumb circling Reed's clit like clockwork. Until it's not anymore. Until suddenly her fingers are still there but her thumb is gone, and when Reed opens her eyes to see why, they're met with the sight of Stella's mouth descending to replace it.

"Fuck," Reed whispers, but the 'ck' dissolves, lost in the air as her neck arches back into the sheets, as Stella's wet tongue takes its first hard swipe. Oh. Oh sweet heaven. Reed gasps and lifts her hips, shoves herself desperately against Stella's mouth.

Stella steadies her, humming against her clit in admonishment, pressing her still to the bed. She starts back up again, fingers curling within, tongue drawing long hard strokes up her center, then dotting the 'i' of her clit at the end. Sometimes she gets fancy, a schoolgirl scripting a love note, dotting the 'i' with a nice, slow curly-queue, swirling it so many times, Reed is left gasping for breath.

The way she works her fingers and her mouth together is glorious, a symphony. Reed can't help herself—she tangles her hands through Stella's hair and begs her not to stop. Stella makes sounds as well, low hums when Reed gets especially frantic, then a groan when Reed's hips surge off the bed. This time though, Stella doesn't press her back down. This time, she drapes Reed's leg over her shoulder and gives her a proper fucking, thrusting her fingers deep, working her tongue in tight frenetic circles while sucking her clit inside.

It's amazing, amazing. Reed rises and falls to Stella's rhythm, grinding herself against that pretty pink mouth, holding tight to that pretty blond hair. This is what it's like to be fucked by a woman, she thinks. Overwhelming. Soft. Even despite Stella's exquisitely commanding presence, it's all still so very soft.

"Fuck, Stella, fuck," she pleads, her voice hoarse from exertion. She can't take much more. Her entire body is throbbing, tingling, Stella's mouth the only thing tethering her anymore to this earth. She can't… She can't… Then at the precise moment she's about to unravel, Stella slows her fingers, slows her tongue. Slows the thrust of Reed's hips.

Reed chokes back a gasp. "No," she whimpers, "No…please…"

"Tell me…," Stella murmurs, lips still there, the vibrations sweet agony against Reed's clit.

"God, Stella…God…make me come…please make me come…," Reed's voice is barely a whisper.

Stella finds Reed's eyes, dark and heavy and desperate. Without looking away, she drives her fingers hard up into Reed's pussy, grinds her tongue firmly against her clit, then as a final punctuation, bites down just-so with the flats of her teeth. It's enough. It's more than enough. Reed comes with a violent thrust of her body and a tortured whimper, Stella's hair spiralled tightly in her fingers.

She looks down her body once she's come back to herself, to the woman kneeling between her legs. Stella smiles and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, proud, content. She reminds Reed once again of a mighty lioness, grooming herself after a kill. Her bared breasts are full and her nipples flushed with arousal. It's a stunning sight.

"You were right, you know," Reed smiles lazily.

Stella arches an eyebrow. "About what?"

"You _are_ very good with your mouth."

Stella chuckles, then climbs on hands and knees to lie beside her newly-conquered prey.

"I'd ask how you're so good at that, but I'm not sure I'd want to know the answer…," Reed says, still catching her breath. She props onto an elbow then reaches out and traces a finger along the delicate arch of Stella's ribcage, wondering how many others have done the same.

"It's in a woman's best interest to know what's pleasurable, both for herself and for her partner," Stella murmurs, turning her head to catch Reed's eye. "Don't you agree?"

"Mmmm, yes," Reed answers, continuing her finger's journey over the landscape of Stella's ribs, counting them silently as she travels over each small hill. "I wonder whether I'd know how to please a woman though," she continues, "You, for example."

Stella quirks her lip into a wry half-smile, "Oh, you'd do well. Because I'd let you know what works and what doesn't. And _that_ , what you're doing right now? That works very well. For example."

Reed slides her hand lower to caress the pale flesh of Stella's belly. She traces her way from one freckle to the next, stopping midway to circle her navel. "You mean this?" she asks.

"Mmmm," Stella hums, her muscles twitching beneath Reed's touch. "Yes," she murmurs, "Or this," drawing Reed's hand slowly up to her breast. Reed sucks in a breath.

She remembers the other night, touching her own breast, pretending it was Stella's. It wasn't the same. Oh dear lord, it wasn't the same. Stella's breasts are fuller, heavier, her nipples starkly pink against the cream of her skin. Reed flexes her fingers, kneads the softness before swiping a thumb over the raspberry-tinted center. She watches as the nipple defines itself, hardens. She does it again and Stella's breath hitches.

"Yes," Stella hisses. Reed rolls the tightening bud between two fingers and is mesmerized by the arch it inspires in Stella's spine, the tilt it brings to her hips.

There's something so beautiful about this, about watching a woman's body respond, not with masculine grunts and hard, sharp angles, but with sighs and soft, breathtaking curves. She wants to see more.

She rises to sit on her knees. "I want to watch you come," she whispers.

Stella raises an eyebrow. Without breaking eye contact, she slides off her trousers and undergarments and tosses them to the floor. She rises, kneels before Reed and looks her directly in the eye. "Well, go ahead then," she says, and spreads her legs slightly for emphasis. Reed holds back a whimper.

There's a nervous energy pulsing through her veins as she leans forward, as she captures Stella's lips between her own. She may be in unfamiliar territory, but she's never been more eager to explore. Stella is the most alluring foreign land she's ever visited, and Reed longs to learn her customs, to discover each of her most breathtaking sites.

She weaves her fingers through Stella's hair, through those long golden locks. So soft. Their tongues collide, and soon other body parts do as well. It's the most erotic thing Reed's ever felt, Stella's hard nipples brushing against her own as they kiss.

They kiss and they kiss, and it's agonizingly sweet to kiss a woman, to rub against her skin and press against her soft, smooth body. But soon Stella's hands are there at the back of her head, guiding her lower. Reed sucks in a breath as Stella gently thrusts a breast in the direction of her lips. She's thought about doing this since almost the beginning, since that first glimpse of nude lace in the hallway.

She's tentative at first, lapping softly, sucking gently. Stella sighs and, emboldened, Reed draws the nipple deep inside, closing her eyes. She feels a heady sense of power when Stella groans, arching her back even further. It's exquisite. Reed finds her other breast, kneads it, pinches the nipple between finger and thumb, pulls at it like a rubber band, then watches it pop back into place.

She loses herself for a moment, caught up in Stella's playground of a body. She's so easily distracted by her shiny new toys, she almost misses it when Stella speaks.

"Hmmm?" she responds, lips reluctant to leave their place.

Stella speaks again, and this time Reed hears her. Oh dear lord, she hears her.

"Use your teeth," Stella breathes, and Reed moans desperately against her skin. She looks up. Stella is a vision, lips parted, cheeks flushed, hair mussed. She knows exactly what she wants. Reed finds that to be the sexiest part of all. And she wants to be able to give it to her.

She cups Stella's breast in her hand. Then slowly, very slowly, she scrapes her teeth across the pale, pink skin, stopping just short of where she knows Stella most wants her. She does it again. And again. She can hear Stella's breath quickening above her, can feel Stella's fingers tightening in her hair. Finally she stops, not-quite-there again, but this time she stays, breathes, waits. She raises her eyes but Stella's are closed, her tongue poised barely at the edge of her teeth. Reed darts out her tongue, then scrapes her teeth fully down the nipple, giving it a sharp nip before softly kissing it better.

"Oh god," Stella groans, her entire body undulating with pleasure as she presses Reed's mouth further to her breast.

Reed continues, tonguing and nibbling and sucking, drunk on Stella's sighs and the bow-like arch of her body. She's learning to tame the lioness, and it's intoxicating. Soon though, it's not enough. Stella reaches for her hand and guides it to the juncture between her thighs.

"Oh god." It's Reed who says it this time. "I can't…," she stammers.

But before she can continue, Stella interrupts, "I'll show you."

Reed lifts back up on her knees, so again they're face to face. Stella's breasts are slick and red from the attentions of her mouth, and it fills her with a sense of pride. She's marked her, made her presence known.

She kisses her, lays her open lips against Stella's as Stella guides her hand back down, placing it on the soft strip of hair there and pressing. Reed feels Stella's clit, like a river-slickened pebble, and she groans. With Stella's guidance, she begins to circle, circle. Their lips brush, and she feels Stella's quick breaths at her chin. She presses harder, circles deeper. Stella gasps, tilting her hips forward, grasping Reed's waist with her free hand.

Then she's urging her hand lower, pressing Reed's fingers down to slide through her slickened folds. She's so fucking wet. It's such a cliché thing to think, something Reed imagines coming from a man, but it's true. "You're so wet," she breathes against Stella's mouth.

"Beautiful women do that to me," Stella murmurs back, rocking her pelvis into the cradle of Reed's palm.

Reed slides her tongue along Stella's lips while doing the same with her fingers below. She plays there in Stella's slick, wet folds, delving barely inside, then wandering back out to explore. It's so different with a woman. Getting a man off is hard, fast, aggressive. With a woman, she feels like she can take her time, can wander about and enjoy the labyrinth before finding her way out in the end.

But she's getting impatient, and Stella is as well, she can tell. Without warning, she slides in a finger, and is rewarded by a grunt and a thrust of Stella's hips. "Yes," Stella whispers, tightening her grip on Reed's waist. Reed moves closer, settling herself onto one of Stella's outspread thighs, bringing her free hand to tangle in Stella's hair.

It's hot inside Stella's pussy, breathtakingly hot, and she kisses Stella hard on the lips as she strokes, strokes, strokes. "More," Stella murmurs, "another finger..."

She complies, and it's so fucking tight, she needs to shift herself around for a better angle. She wedges a knee beneath her hand to gain better leverage, and Stella hums in approval. Stella pulls her close, farther up the slope of her thigh, their breasts jostling for position in the space between their bodies. It's deliciously intimate, and she trails her tongue beneath Stella's jaw. She explores Stella's depths, curves her fingers, twirls them, discovers all the places that make her breath hitch.

And Stella's breath _does_ hitch. It's the sexiest thing in the world, watching Stella Gibson begin to lose control. She's rocking herself atop Reed's hand, grinding down against her knee, gripping the flesh on her back. Reed works harder— short, sharp thrusts with her fingers, and Stella responds, her breaths becoming harsher, barely-there whimpers at the back of her throat.

Reed changes positions slightly, crooks her fingers just a touch more, and Stella's grip on her back suddenly tightens. " _There_ …Jesus!" Stella gasps. Her undulations against Reed's hand and knee grow deeper, frantic. She reaches down to rub her own clit, and Reed groans helplessly. She's close to overcome with how bloody sexy this is. She feels Stella's quick breathes at her ear, and then the whispered words, "Get yourself off… against my leg…"

She hadn't even realized she was thrusting against Stella's thigh, grinding her own wetness again and again into Stella's smooth skin. She gives herself over to the sensations, allows herself to feel. Pressing her mouth to Stella's and sucking her tongue inside, she furiously rides her thigh, ramming her fingers so deep up into Stella's pussy, she fears she'll become lost inside. It's fucking glorious.

But then Stella's pulling away, sweeping her neck into a delicate, beautiful arch, scraping her short nails down the length of Reed's back. Her eyes are closed, lips parted, and "Fuckkkkk" seeps from her mouth like a mist. She shudders, muscles clenching rhythmically around Reed's fingers before her body goes limp. The sensations are enough to bring Reed over the edge again as well, and she grinds against Stella's thigh while riding out her own orgasm.

They slump to the bed after, tangled in a way Reed's never found herself tangled with another woman, all silky skin and pillowed flesh. It's sublime. Her head lies on Stella's breast, and she considers tossing every single cushion she owns, because there'll never be a spot softer than this.

"Well, that was….nice," Stella murmurs, playing with a strand of Reed's long hair.

"That was more than _nice_ ," Reed replies, and Stella chuckles softly in reply.

They lie there for long, long moments, heartbeats and erratic breaths slowing. Stella slides her fingers languidly through Reed's hair while Reed traces barely-there incision lines onto Stella's abdomen, trying not to think of the morning.

Eventually, Stella excuses herself to shower. Reed stands, walks to the full length mirror across the room and looks at herself. She's pleasantly flushed, glowing. Her eyes are dark and hair in disarray. But she's beautiful. A beautiful woman. She turns slowly, watching her body as it moves, seeing it as Stella saw it moments ago—graceful, lithe, strong. Turned almost completely around, she notices something. Marks on her back. Faint, but there, from Stella's shortened nails.

She'd worried, a few days ago, about being just a conquest, about walking away with scratches and nothing else. But now, as she runs her fingers slowly over the marks, she smiles. When she goes home to her girls tonight, when she creeps into their room and kisses their sleeping heads, she'll do it wearing these scratches with pride. She's not a coward. She has no regrets. And that's a wonderful, wonderful feeling.

She's thought about it. Bloody hell, of course she's thought about it. And now she can stand tall, knowing she did so much more.


End file.
